Chapter 1

Mavis, the wife was at the bar, buying herself a large rum and coke, her fifth, and me a fourth pint of Tribute Ale. The girl sidled up to me as I was munching a bag of chees and onion crisps, reading the Daily Mirror about some fucking thing called breaksit. Hadn’t a clue, but it passed the time on a late Saturday moring, having just emptied the shelves of Lidls and loaded the clapped out old Ford. Out of the corner of my bleary eyes I had spotted her with a crowd along the bench seats. It wasn’t her in particular I had concentrated on, but what might have been her sister, a plump girl maybe early 20s, breast feeding a baby.

A fat bloke playing darts, had been sat joking with them earlier had passed me, nodded and said, “OK mate, how’s it hanging?” I knew him from a building job last month and I knew he had a big family. I’d forgotten his name, probably mutual. Just two middle aged tradesmen in a pub.

At that time, it was hanging OK, along my thigh, inside me jeans, about five flaccid inches, occasionally been shifted or rubbed if I came across a picture or a real life girl and I’d just hefted it an inch upwards having seen the plump girl move her sucking kid from one tit to another in blatant disregard, I’m thankful to say, for pub customers.

Mavis returned, put the drinks on the table and went to the ladies, so I had a gob full, had some crisps and patted my dog after tossing it a couple of crisps. The girl stayed near me and Twerp, the cross breed, whippet and Irish Terrier who as usual was letting the world and their grandma see the first inch of his pink cock spouting from his sheath – dirty sod that he is.

“That’s a nice dog,” lisped the girl, bending to pat it, showing me her cute little bum, and a pair of pink lacy knickers halfway up her crack in a lovely wedgie.

Mavis came back and sat next to me on the other side of the table which hid the upskirt I was being flashed, but it had gone now. I ignored the kid who leaned against the next table stroking Twerp,

“Fucking pub,” she moaned shifting her weight side to side heavily on the seat. “No sodding toilet paper, ‘ad to wipe me cunt with me hands ‘cos it went all over me arse, as it does,” she chuckled.

“Well if that’s the case, yer dress is going to be soaked if yor dryin’ it now.”

“Do I care Maury? Got a new one in the bag from Age Concern,” she cackled.

I shrugged and got on with my pint and paper. I went for a piss. When I got back the girl was squatting down, stroking Twerp and feeding him my fucking crisps while Mavis sat and grinned at them.